


The Golden

by poetrythroughprose



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies)
Genre: F/M, beware: here be feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-01-16 04:13:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 5,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1331503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetrythroughprose/pseuds/poetrythroughprose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the Year 1000 to the Year 1015, the Pevensies ruled Narnia during the Golden Age. In that time, they evaded kidnapping attempts, put down rebellions, fought border wars, and guided Narnia into the most peaceful period in history. This is a series of non-chronological drabbles about their experiences with war, diplomacy, love, and the struggles of ruling a kingdom until their last fateful day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I left someone

**Author's Note:**

> This series is a companion to the fic "The Call", and will throw some light on the Pevensies during The Golden Age, which C.S. Lewis has relatively skipped over. Thus, many of the drabbles will also have the character Julia Keating/Tempestra (who you will see from "The Call"). You will see the relationship between the Pevensies and between Julia and Peter, and - most significantly - you will get a better understanding of the complexities of ruling a kingdom.

**Year 1015**

The moment Peter stepped through the wardrobe into Narnia had completely changed his life; it stood to reason that the moment he stepped through the wardrobe back into Earth, it would do the same. This time, however, he was a different person. But Earth was exactly the same.

They told the professor about their lives and adventures in Narnia. He escorted them into his study, served them tea, then listened as they explained what exactly they had been doing in the wardrobe. Peter remembered the expressions that had crossed the professor's face while he listened: excitement, amusement, curiosity, even - fleetingly - sadness.

When they finished, the professor had Mrs. Macready bring dinner into the study, just that once. She had bustled in with their trays, glowering at them as they stared at her, barely remembering her and entirely unaware of the reason why she glared so. It took the professor's reminder about their ball game and a broken window for them to understand. For them, it had happened fifteen years ago; a small, insignificant event. For the professor and Mrs. Macready, it had happened mere hours ago.

When they finally decided to go to bed, the professor had to show them back to their room, lest Mrs. Macready grow suspicious as to why they couldn't remember such an ordinary thing. After some confusion and searching, they found and donned their pajamas, climbed into bed, and settled down. Peter knew they all had to be thinking about how scratchy the blankets and how lumpy the mattresses were - especially compared with their individual Narnian bedrooms set with lavish four-poster, king-sized beds - but none of them mentioned it aloud. They were too tired to talk after getting into bed, and slowly, one by one, they fell asleep.

But Peter stayed awake. There were too many thoughts running through his mind, though his body ached for sleep. But his heart - oh, his heart - it ached even more fiercely. While they had been talking to the professor , he had been too engrossed in the story-telling to think about what had happened. But now, as he lay there in the darkness and silence with only his thoughts to occupy him, realization began to dawn on him. And with it came regret and despair.

He was in his dressing gown and shoes, and halfway down the hallway, before he realized what he was doing. He only hesitated in front of the door for a moment before lifting the latch, opening the door, and stepping inside the room.

It was still there. Peter had half-expected the wardrobe to have disappeared after they had left the room, but there it still was: large, solid, and carved intricately out of dark wood. Its presence seemed both terrifying and reassuring, and Peter found himself taking a deep breath before approaching it. Upon closer inspection, he saw that there were elaborate pictures carved into the door and sides: a blazing sun over water, a forest, two royals, an apple, two rings, a bird, a mountain, a horse, a tree, two crowns, a bell, a castle, and - he saw with a jolt - two lion heads.

But this time, there was something different about the wardrobe. When he and his siblings had opened the wardrobe and crossed into Narnia, it had felt almost alive. Now, it was just as when he had seen it the first time - still and dead. He placed his hand on the latch, but he did not need to open the door to know that there would be only winter coats inside.

"Did you leave something?"

Peter jumped, startled, and whirled around to see the professor leaning against the wall next to the door, facing him. He was smoking a pipe and regarding the young man thoughtfully, his sharp eyes peering over the spectacles perched low on his nose.

"I haven't been startled like that in a long time," Peter told the old man ruefully, removing his hand from the wardrobe. The professor just smiled and straightened from his position against the wall.

"And I assume you've lived for very long?" he remarked dryly. When Peter's gaze became somber, the professor asked quietly, "How old are you, Peter?"

"Thirty-one, sir," was the quick reply.

The old man looked at him almost pitylingly.

"Not anymore," he said gravely, and Peter's heart plummeted. He was right, of course - Peter was not a man anymore. He was only a boy. He was not old enough to vote or go to war. Returning from Narnia had de-aged him and his siblings drastically, something that they had yet to fully comprehend or adjust to. They would have to grow up all over again.

Peter turned to gaze longingly back at the wardrobe. He reached up, and his fingers softly traced the carvings of the two crowns framed by leafy branches.

"Did you leave something, then?" the professor asked from behind him, and Peter's shoulders sagged.

" _I left someone._ "


	2. Like children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Julia is the Pevensies' closest advisor, along with Mr. Tumnus and the Beavers. General Oreius, who was the centaur leader in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, is the head of the Narnian army and military advisor.

**Year 1002**

"This is outrageous."

Peter would not stop pacing. He was a raging young lion in red velvet, prowling back and forth, his fury radiating from him in waves. Julia stood tensely to the side and watched him stride. She kept her arms folded to prevent herself from grabbing him to force him to stand still. Just watching him pacing angrily made her stressed. The plush, warm library that served as her office was only so big, and if Peter did not stop, he would wear down the carpet from his treading.

"Calm down," she told him firmly, jaw clenched.

The young king did not pause. Throwing her a frustrated look, he threw his hands up into the air.

"I will _not_ calm down!" he snapped. For a moment he turned on the spot as if looking for something to throw, and finding nothing within hand's reach, continued to prowl. "And why do you always say that, anyway?" he added, aggravated. Julia just raised her eyebrows dryly.

"Because you're always working yourself up over everything," she retorted. "You've got a terrible temper; it's one of your flaws."

Peter gave her a withering look.

"Well, I always have a good reason to be angry," he snapped. "You saw those emissaries! _You saw how they treated us!"_ He paused, struggling for words. "Like - like we were children!"

Julia's expression remained undaunted.

"How old are you, again? How old are _they_ , again?" When Peter ignored her, she continued evenly, "You need to see this from their point of view. They're from an old, established kingdom that values experience, age, and wisdom as prerequisites for a ruler. How long do you think it took for them to climb the ranks and become emissaries?"

Peter finally stopped and turned to look at her, his hands folded behind his back. His face was stony, but Julia went on anyway.

"You four are _children_ compared to them," she reminded him. "How do you think that makes them feel? You four became rulers mere days after appearing in this world. You didn't have to spend decades playing the difficult game of politics and working as hard as they did."

When Peter opened his mouth in protest, no doubt to insist that his family had gone through their share of problems, Julia shook her head. "No," she cut him off. "Fighting one battle that you won because you were saved by an animal deity doesn't count. You didn't spend your whole life to become high king."

Peter closed his mouth and swallowed hard. He clenched his jaw as if to keep back his biting words, then finally nodded.

"Fine," he remarked, forcibly keeping his words even. "I see your point. But how do I treat them? If they keep acting like this-"

"Treat them with respect," Julia suggested. Now that the young king had gotten over his temper tantrum, she relaxed and sank into a red velvet armchair. "They're older and more experienced, so let it show that you acknowledge that and you respect that. You don't have to treat them like they're your superiors, but treat them with the politeness, deference, and esteem that they deserve."

Peter threw himself into the armchair next to hers. He stared at the crackling fire, thinking her words over.

"Can you do that?" Julia prodded him gently after a few moments of silence. Peter looked back up to her and nodded. His shoulders sagged.

"Yes, you're right, of course." The young man leaned his head against one hand, his elbow propped up on the arm of the chair. "God, I'm not made for this."

Julia smiled at him.

"That's why you have me," she told him gently. "I'm an outsider, so I have a different view of everything. Plus," she added, "your brother and sisters are pretty good at this. Susan's rational, Edmund's fair, and Lucy's gentle and sweet."

"And me?" Peter gazed at Julia despondently. "What do I have that helps with this sort of thing?"

"You're noble and honorable," the young woman replied, pitying his forlorn expression. "You're confident and assertive, and that can evoke respect from others. Just don't take it too far."

Peter half-smiled.

"And how far is 'too far'?" he asked dryly. Julia gave him a genuine smile.

"I'll let you know when you get there."


	3. Light and dark

In the light of the day they were radiant and powerful, pure goodness and bravery and might. But at night, when it was dark, they were children again - small, young, uncertain, even afraid. At night, their insecurities crept out of the darkness and clung to them and would not retreat until dawn.

At night, they were mere children playing rulers.


	4. Disarmed

**Year 1004**

It had been one of those evenings when the Pevensies and Julia were sitting outside in a circle around a stoked fire, sipping drinks as they digested their dinner and chatted idly about anything that came to mind. The sun was setting, and soon some of the servants had come outside to light the torches staked in the ground. Somehow, the conversation turned to the topic of hand-to-hand fighting. Peter, Edmund, and Julia debated whether or not it was useful to learn hand-to-hand fighting versus weapons fighting. Susan, who preferred to use her bow and arrows, mostly listened and interjected at times. Lucy kept quiet, preferring to listen and observe.

Edmund, who did not feel very strongly either way, eventually dropped the subject. Yet Peter and Julia continued to debate, until it became a heated argument. As a skilled swordsman, Peter advocated weapons fighting above all else; as a skilled melee fighter, Julia backed hand-to-hand fighting. Each believed that their respective fighting styles were the most important. Peter believed that weapons combat was the most useful because people were more likely to carry weapons in a fight, and that not knowing how to wield weapons meant that one was as good as dead when pitted against someone with a weapon. Someone who was weaponless could never win over someone with a weapon, he asserted.

Julia countered his argument sharply. What if one had no weapons? One would be useless in any situation without a weapon. People did not carry around weapons expecting a fight to break out. Or what if one was disarmed? One had to learn to fight on despite this disadvantage. Besides, it was very possible for someone who was unarmed to defeat someone who was armed.

Peter disagreed with Julia's claim so strongly that Susan finally interrupted.

"Why don't you see for yourselves?" the young woman interjected suddenly, exasperated. "You'll never solve this argument just by arguing over theories!"

Peter and Julia immediately agreed, and the five of them made the short trip to the training area to settle the debate. Peter was equipped with a wooden practice sword, and Julia remained weaponless. She agreed not to use her powers, just for the sake of reason; after all, she was the only one in the world who had that advantage.

As Julia settled into a fighting stance, she flashed a challenging smile at Peter.

"Just to warn you," she told him as he readied himself, "I'm not going to go easy on you."

Peter returned her grin.

"Then I won't, either."

At Edmund's order, they sprang at each other.

Peter swung at Julia. As the sword whooshed through the air above her head, the young woman executed a quick roll. Crouching at Peter's side, she swung her leg out to sweep his feet out from under him, but he jumped to avoid it. When Peter turned and chopped down at Julia, she sidestepped his attack, grabbed his sword wrist, and twisted it. Peter fell backwards, his sword falling from his grasp, but rolled with his movement. He grabbed his weapon and sprang up once again.

Predictably, the two opponents were equally matched in skill. Although the sun was disappearing below the horizon, leaving only their silhouettes visible to the onlookers, the two battled it out earnestly until they were exhausted. In the end, however, a powerful kick from Julia hurled Peter to the ground and scattered his weapon a few feet away. Unarmed, the young man failed to put up a defense against the young woman, who only halted when the edge of her hand stopped an inch from her opponent's windpipe.

Peter met Julia's sharp gaze as the onlookers applauded.

"This doesn't prove anything," the high king told her quietly, his chest heaving with exertion. Julia lowered her hand and offered it to him, her intense expression giving way to a teasing grin.

"Of course not," she replied amiably. She was panting as hard as he was. When they were both on their feet, she reached up to brush some grass from Peter's hair. They were very close to each other, and she noticed Peter's quick intake of breath. "I had a cup of wine before the duel," Julia murmured. "It was hardly fair, but I evened the odds a little." At Peter's nonplussed expression, she only laughed and sauntered away.


	5. Queen

**Year 1008**

When Susan and Lucy grew up to become beautiful young women, royalty from neighboring kingdoms began sending ambassadors to Cair Paraval to ask for their hands in marriage and partnerships between their kingdoms. When the Pevensies politely informed them that courtship was a prerequisite, the royals themselves came to court the young women.

It was a tiring affair, entertaining and hosting the royalty with their accompanying entourage. There were endless balls, parties, welcoming ceremonies, lunches, feasts, and day trips to amuse the young people. Julia was glad that peace reigned over Narnia during those years; had a conflict erupted, the Pevensies would have been hard-pressed to deal with it while the court affairs were so time-consuming.

At the end of one particularly long day in which two princes had spent the day vying persistently for Susan's hand in marriage, the Pevensies retired to their favorite cozy room to relax in front of a warm fireplace. When Julia slipped into the room, she found the four of them lounging in armchairs as they sipped tea and chatted about the day's events. After a day of horseback riding around the area, the court was too fatigued to do anything else after dinner.

Peter was the first to notice Julia enter the room; he smiled up at her and silently motioned her towards the chair next to him as everyone listened to Susan's impressions of the two princes. As Julia took the proffered seat, Susan was saying, "Prince Lyndon was especially insistent during the picnic. Do you know what he said to me? He actually told me that he could make me his queen."

When Peter, Edmund, and Lucy reacted with varying expressions of amusement, scorn, and impatience, Julia asked, "What did you say back?"

Susan smiled, her eyes twinkling.

"I told him that I didn't need to marry him; I'm already a queen."


	6. A boy

**Year 1001**

"I'm high king!" he protested.

Her scornful gaze leveled him where he stood.

"You might be a king," she said cuttingly, "but you're still a boy."

He blinked and looked down, unsure.

Their age difference was not large - she was older by only two years - but for teenagers of their tender years, it was a substantial age gap. He might have had more power, but she was older and had more experience. He had not been high king for long and was not accustomed to the authority that came with it. In a few years he would learn not to back down. But for now, she could wield considerable influence over him.

It frightened and exhilarated her.


	7. Thrones

**Year 1013**

Cair Paravel's Throne Room - or Great Hall as some called it - was glorious. It was all high graceful arches, tall marble columns, and sparkling stained glass windows. The marble was white and luminous, gilded with gold that shone as brightly as the sunlit windows. Four tall thrones sat at the head of the hall, which opened to a spectacular view of the Eastern Sea. On the other end, behind the four thrones, was a full-length wall of intricate stained glass. It was too magnificent for Julia, although Peter had grown fond of it over the years.

She found him there, sitting pensively on his throne and staring straight ahead. Each throne was made of marble and edged in gold. Julia had once tried sitting on one throne, and found it uncomfortable despite the seat cushion. It was a throne for kings and queens: beautiful, but rigid.

"Enjoying the view?"

Peter gave a start at Julia's voice, and turned to look at her. She strode in from the side door and cocked an eyebrow at him as she approached. The high king smiled, his thoughtful expression giving way to calm contentment.

"Well, now that you're here…"

Julia declined to sit, but remained standing casually at his side. It was a position she knew well from experience, having taken it over the years to advise the high king. When Peter extended a hand to her, however, she moved closer and took his hand. He drew her closer and kissed her hand gently, then looked back up at her.

"How did you find me?" he asked, amused. "I didn't tell the others I'd be here."

The woman raised her eyebrows.

"I know you too well, that's how," she replied. "You're more than a little attached to this chair, even if it gives you grief." When Peter made a face in protest, she smiled and reached over to touch his stubble lightly.

"You're really keeping this, aren't you?" she teased, changing the subject. It was one of those times when she could see that he wore his crown heavily. "I thought you were just growing it out to look older than Edmund."

Peter rubbed his still-growing beard, grinning.

"That's part of it," he admitted. He glanced up at her. "What, you don't like it?"

Julia laughed. She would've ruffled his hair if his crown wasn't in the way.

"You know I've always approved of your hair," she replied. "It's one of your charms, among others."

Peter got to his feet. Linking his arm with Julia's, he led them out of the Throne Room.

"Others? Like what?"

"Oh no, we're not doing this again. The last thing you need is something else going to your head."

"You're not calling me conceited, are you? Me?"

"Maybe."

Peter's laugh echoed in the grand hall, and as they exited through the side door, Julia glanced backwards. The thrones remained there, firm and unyielding.


	8. Happy birthday

**Year 1006**

"Where are you taking me?" Peter asked. Julia just smiled and glanced behind to check that his eyes were still closed. Pulling him along by the hand, she led him out of one of the side doors of the castle until they were standing on a balcony overlooking a courtyard.

"Not very far," she reassured him. Once they were standing at the edge of the balcony, she turned to face him. "Ok, now you can look."

Peter opened his eyes to see Julia watching him expectantly. When he simply looked at her, bewildered, she nodded towards the sky.

"Look up."

And Peter did.

Above them was the bright blue sky that was typical of a summer day in Narnia. But what made it unique was the graceful formation of the clouds. A delicate wisp of cloud was arranged into a graceful spiral that curled into itself. Illuminated by the shining sun, it seemed to glow. It was ethereal and fantastic, and for a moment Peter was speechless.

"Did you make this?" His voice was quiet, awed. He couldn't take his eyes off of it.

Julia tilted her head back to gaze at it.

"Kind of," she replied softly. "There was already the beginning of the formation. I just perfected it."

Peter looked back down at the young woman and smiled. Even in a land as magical and otherwordly as Narnia, she never failed to amaze him. Realizing that their hands were still intertwined, the young king squeezed her hand gently. Julia looked at him, surprised, but did not break their contact. Instead, she turned her gaze back up to the sky.

"Happy birthday, Peter."


	9. Crown

**Year 1014**

_Queen_.

Did he know what that meant, truly? He was high king - marrying him would make her high queen. Did he really know what being high queen entailed? Yes, he was a king - but being a queen was something very different. She knew from observing and advising Queen Susan and Queen Lucy that their lives were very different from King Peter and King Edmund. Peter and Edmund did not have the responsibility of entertaining and hosting all visitors. They were not expected to be the most beautiful in the room, or the most gracious, or the kindest. They did not have to diplomatically decline marriage offers in ways that would refrain from offending the proposer's fragile masculinity. They did not have to apologize for being powerful.

She would make a terrible high queen, that much she was certain. She could play the part of a host, but she did not like it. She did not like curtseying and speaking pretty words - those she left to the kings and queens while she watched from afar. She would rather rage at a man than smile prettily at him.

And she was no people-lover, not like the Pevensies were. Not like Susan and Lucy were. They were loved by everyone they met, whether they were princes or peasants, men or women, adults or children. They could charm a gruff old man or delight a sweet young child. But she wasn't like that. The people called Susan 'the Gentle' and Lucy 'the Brave' (though they had eventually begun to call Lucy 'the Beautiful'), but what would she be called? 'The Powerful'? 'The Strong'? 'The Cunning'? Nothing that was accepted in a queen.

But what would make them hate her the most was this: she did not want children. Susan and Lucy had always wanted children, had always admired children, had always been charmed by children. But she was not like them. She liked children, but she did not want her own. Peter was expected to have children, and if she became his queen, she would be expected to bear his children. They were expected to rear royal children, the next in the royal line. The thought made her heart clench.

She wanted to ride and fight and argue and build a kingdom. She wanted to lead armies to battle, command her own forces, travel across the world. She would never be allowed that kind of freedom if she was high queen. Peter could, because he was a man. As adviser, warrior, and strategist she could, because she was not expected to rule. But the moment that crown was placed on her head, she would be expected to take root at Cair Paravel.

A crown could be a heavy burden, and she did not want it.


	10. Shirt

**Year 1013**

"Where's my shirt?" Julia asked, digging through the piles of blankets and pillows scattered across the floor of the sizable tent. She wore only brown breeches and a bra as she picked her way, barefooted and bent double, around the lavish gold tent.

Peter remained lying on the ground, watching her lazily as he rested his head back on his interwoven fingers. He had only managed to haphazardly pull on a pair of breeches.

"No idea," he remarked nonchalantly, surreptitiously inching over to settle on the garment to hide it. "I guess you'll just have to stay here until you find it. Or you could just never leave."

Julia flashed him an amused look and pulled on her brown leather boots.

"Wouldn't _you_ love that?" she replied. She strolled over to Peter and got on her hands and knees, moving closer. Her long black hair curtained around their faces, her lips hovered tantalizingly over his, and she smiled as his eyelids fluttered.

Without warning, Julia yanked her shirt from underneath him, eliciting a loud grumble of protest. She slipped on the loose white cotton shirt before pulling on a brown leather jerkin over her shirt, and a long red skirt which split in the front to reveal her breeches. At Peter's despondent look, the young woman swooped down to brush her lips over his one last time before exiting through the back of the tent with a wave and a smile.

Peter settled back on the blankets and gave a long, forlorn sigh.


	11. Winter

**Year 1000 - 1015**

Winter was never particularly long in Narnia - no longer than it seemed to be on Earth, anyway. It was a season of ice skating, snowball fights, snow angels, and cozy evenings by the fire with steaming cups of hot chocolate. The royal family led the events during the season, and even held a week-long snow festival to liven up the chilly days. No one could say no to them as they cheerfully pelted each other with snowballs, their smiling faces flushed from the cold. But the Narnians could never enjoy winter for very long. They had endured it for a hundred years.

It was worst for Edmund. He participated in the festivities every year and tried to keep up a lively spirit, but after a few weeks he seemed to fade, withdrawing into his room and coming out only when he was persuaded. Ice skating in particular made him uncomfortable; he always began skating with a tight expression, relaxing only after Lucy spent enough time laughing and dragging him around by the hands.

But no matter how much the Pevensies tried to make the winter bearable, no one was happier than they when spring finally dawned on the kingdom.


	12. Stormbringer

**Year 1001**

"Tempestra the Great, Stormbringer, Lady of Lightning!"

The crowd seemed to ripple as the nearest guests turned, clothes rustling, to acknowledge Julia. For a moment she merely stood and blinked, dazzled by the array of colors and faces. The Throne Room shone brighter than usual, thanks to some vigorous polishing and a large stock of candles and torches, and the light flashed as it reflected off silver platters, mirrors, and jewels. The Great Hall teemed with shifting clothes and chattering voices when it was normally spacious and calm, and Julia fleetingly considered sidling away and out of the party. But when Edmund stepped forward and extended his arm, she focused on the familiar face and smiled. It was as much his duty as hers to be present, no matter how much they found it tedious.

"Stormbringer? Really?"

Edmund chuckled as Julia took his proffered arm and they glided away from the entrance to the Throne Room.

"Blame Susan for that title," Edmund murmured as the ocean of partygoers parted in front of them with deep bows and curtsies. If anyone noticed their height difference – she was five years older and three inches taller than him – they did not show it. Julia looked at the young king askance.

"Susan?" she asked skeptically.

"Yes, Susan." Edmund nodded in passing at a delegate from Archenland. "She thought it sounded impressive."

"Right, because 'Tempestra the Great' wasn't enough," Julia said under her breath. Edmund just grinned. Slowly, they made their way to the head of the long room.

Julia had not been present for many royal balls – this was her first – but she had to admit that this was most likely not a typical one: most of the guests were adolescents, accompanied by the occasional parent, chaperone, or delegate. The Pevensies had discussed earlier about only inviting young people to the ball. The birthday girl had to be surrounded by people she was comfortable with, after all. Then again, Queen Lucy the Valiant was comfortable with everyone, no matter their age, gender, or species. But the royals had done their homework and chosen the guest list carefully, so that there was none in the crowd whom Lucy did not know.

The Pevensies' thoroughness did not prevent Julia from going one step further and asking some Narnians – those who could blend into a castle as ordinary animals – to do background checks on all of the guests and their potential chaperones and representatives. Her agents, as she had begun to call them, had turned up nothing suspicious, save for one or two delegates who had disreputable histories of theft or lying, and a few young royals who were spoiled by their parents. Julia had persuaded the Pevensies to specifically invite their "personal favorite" delegates, of which the untrustworthy delegates were not included.

"Tempestra!"

There was Peter, awaiting the two of them almost a little too eagerly. Julia observed his pleased smile and wondered briefly if it had already begun – "it" being a decades' long process of Peter falling in love with her. She had thought often of it when she had first arrived in Narnia, but now it barely crossed her mind except in times like these. Luckily, she rarely left any hints that she knew their future and the future of Narnia.

She and Edmund approached Peter, who was departing a group of Narnians from the north. The Pevensies were making a point of paying special attention to the northerners, whose land was a breeding ground of pro-White Witch sentiment. The three of them moved to an empty space at the bottom of the steps to the thrones, which allowed them to overlook the hall.

"Where's Susan?" Edmund asked, glancing around. Lucy was at one of the banquet tables, eating and giggling with some of her young friends, but Susan could not be found in the crowd of guests milling around.

"Dancing," Peter replied, "with the older brother of one of the Lucy's friends."

Edmund grimaced.

"Susan's quite popular with the young men," Julia noted, scanning the dancers and finding the queen twirling with a handsome nobleman. A few others watched wistfully from the edge of the throng of onlookers. "Even if I tried, I don't think I could pull her aside about that title she came up with for me."

"Stormbringer?" Peter asked. Julia nodded. "I thought it sounded inspiring."

The young woman smiled drily at him.

"You would – you came up with 'Tempestra the Great'." She looked back at the dancers. "I'm just not really title material." Peter opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off. "Sorry, hold on a moment. I'll be back."

Before he could say another word, she descended the stairs and strode towards two of the youths watching Susan and her partner dance. They were the epitome of spoiled, rich adolescents. Even from afar, she had read their lips as they had conversed about Susan's long, beautiful hair, and debated the chances of being able to clip off a lock of it for their personal possession. By the time Julia drew near, one of the young men had left. The remaining one, who had an arrogant nose and smirking lips, barely registered Julia's approach until she had her hand closed around his bicep muscle.

"What-"

"Listen carefully." Julia kept her eyes on the people around them, wary for witnesses. But in the jumble of dancers and talkers, nobody paid them any attention. Even Edmund and Peter, who had been surprised by her abrupt departure, had turned their interests elsewhere. The nobleman attempted to wrench his arm away from Julia, who dug her nails into the sensitive space between his upper arm muscles. He instantly went still.

"You and your friend will not touch Queen Susan," Julia continued, her voice low and soft. She turned to meet his gaze, and her eyes were ice cold. "You will not speak to her. You will not even go near her. If you do, you will risk endangering the friendly relations between your house and this one." She pressed her nails in a little harder, eliciting a whimper of pain from her victim, and added, "If you do, I will come after you. Understood?"

" _Yes_ ," the nobleman choked out from between gritted teeth. When Julia paused, he added, " _Understood._ "

"Good." Julia released him and stepped back. "Get out of here."

He promptly fled.

A few minutes later when the dance ended, Susan spotted Julia and came over, slightly out of breath.

"There you are!" she exclaimed, her face flushed. "I thought there was a nobleman here who wanted the next dance, but he seems to have vanished."

Julia shrugged.

"I think he said something about feeling ill," she replied casually. "You look like you could use a drink though." The young woman linked arms with the queen and led her towards the refreshments. "Now, about that title you gave me…"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus begins fifteen years of Julia watching the Pevensies' backs, and the beginning of a slippery slope of questionable things that she does to protect them (which intensifies as the dangers to them does).
> 
> I took a self-defense class at one point, and one of the things that I still remember is that hold (which is used together with a bunch of different moves). It's best if your nails are long and sharp, so of course I grew them out for my final, which included a simulated fight against an instructor. I'd definitely recommend a class like that, if you're not confident about your self-defense abilities.


	13. Fickle memory

How do you go on with life after living another? How do you forget fifteen years of being someone else and return to a life not truly your own?

She spent much of the first few weeks back on earth staring out of windows and trying to remember those fifteen years, trying to relieve those moments and hold onto them before they disappeared the way the others wanted. Because the more she lived there – sleeping in that apartment, gazing at that metropolis sprawling outside that window, sitting in that armchair – the more she began to forget those fifteen years. They seemed like dreams now, wispy, bright, and impossible to hold onto. The more she tried to remember and grab onto them, the more they evaded her grasp, slipping away and disappearing like smoke between her fingers. What was the last thing she said to Susan? Where did she last wield a sword? And then, after awhile – what was the sound of Peter’s voice?

It terrified her, this forgetting, so she began to write down everything she could remember. When a memory resurfaced, she would seize the nearest piece of paper and pen and write it down. Sheets of paper began to blanket the floor of her apartment, and on days when she could not remember Lucy’s bright smile or the smell of a Narnian spring, she would rifle through those papers and read to remember.

Smells were the first to be forgotten, then voices, then faces. She wished she could draw them, her old family of kings and queens. But she was not a good artist, and she didn’t know where to find one who wouldn’t ask why she wanted these drawings. So she wrote down what details she could recall about their features, so she wouldn’t forget Edmund’s freckles or Peter’s stubborn mouth.

She kept the windows closed to prevent errant winds from stirring up her paper memories, and the bedroom became stuffy and still. Some days she would just sit on the ground and read paper after paper, drinking it in hungrily to relive those golden days. She wanted to keep it all – the good, the bad, and the dismal. Her first dance with Peter. Her first battle. Her first feast. Her first fight with Susan. Her first sailing trip on the Eastern Sea. She wanted it all.

But memory was a fickle thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written much about these stories in awhile, but I found some drabbles I'd written awhile ago and figured I should add them to this for those still interested.


End file.
